B 

A 

0 
0 
0 

7 
5 
2 

7 
5 
9 

■ — 

■ 

jJ^^^^Hl 

Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arcliive 

in  2007  witii  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/falstaffliiscompaOOkoneiala 


FALSTAFF 


HIS      COMPANIONS. 


v63^^r 


Falstaff 

AND 

His  Companions. 

Eiatnt^'Ont  MmtxsLtioM  in  Siltouette, 
By    PAUL    KONEWKA. 

WITH   AN   INTRODUCTION   BY   HERMANN   KURZ. 
TRANSLATED   BY   PROF.    C.    C.    SHACKFORD. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS      BROTHERS. 

1872. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


CAMBRIDGE: 
PRESS  OF  JOHN  WILSON   AND  SON. 


INTRODUCTION. 


BY    HERMANN   KURZ. 


TN  this  youthful  squire,  who,  with  proud 
bearing  upon  the  caparisoned  steed,  holds 
aloft  his  banner,  we  recognize  the  brave  boy  in 
Henry  V. ,  —  the  page  now  grown  up  to  be  a 
young  soldier,  —  who  is  hastening  to  his  post  of 
duty  at  Agincourt,  and  to  an  honorable  death. 
It  is  a  happy  thought  of  the  artist  to  make  him 
the  standard-bearer  and  herald  of  a  company 
with  which  he  was  so  honorably  associated 
during  life,  bearing  on  his  banner  the  inscrip- 
tion, "FalstafF  and  his  Companions." 

And  this  is  perfectly  justifiable  at  the  entrance 
of  this  unique  procession  of  "  Knights  of  the 
Round  Table,"  who  form,  so  to  speak,  a  state 
within     the    state     throughout    three    historical 


VI  INTRODUCTION. 

dramas,  and  carry  on  a  supplementary  comedy  of 
their  own  on  the  arena  of  martial  contests.  A 
similar  view  to  this  is  expressed  by  Shakespeare's 
contemporaries,  in  the  first  edition  of  his  works, 
—  the  celebrated  Folio  published  by  two  of  his 
friends  and  fellow-players,  —  where  FalstafF  and 
his  companions,  in  one  of  its  lists  of  dramatis 
■personcR^  so  rarely  to  be  met  with,  are  separated 
from  the  other  characters,  and  designated  as 
"  Irregular  Humorists."  Even  in  the  lifetime 
of  the  poet,  these  Falstaffians  were  not  only 
regarded  as  constituent  parts  of  those  dramas, 
but  as  having  a  special  and  independent  sphere 
of  their  own.  And  very  naturally,  for  they  are 
at  once  perceived  to  be  a  significant  parody  and 
foil  of  the  leading  serious  events ;  and,  while 
these  are  occurring,  there  is  readily  present  to 
our  minds  an  independent  and  unbroken  series 
of  genuine  comedy. 

This  Falstaffiade  owes  its  origin  to  one  of  the 
strangest  revivals  of  unauthentic  tradition  and 
distorted  history.  There  existed  a  traditional 
story  of  the  national  hero,  Henry  V.,  that,  when 


INTRODUCTION.  VU 

Crown  Prince,  in  order  to  divert  from  himself 
the  jealousy  of  his  suspicious  father,  he  had 
played  a  part  like  Brutus,  spending  his  time 
idly  and  among  loose  companions ;  and  that 
after  he  had  ascended  the  throne  they  were  ban- 
ished from  his  presence.  History  knows  nothing 
of  this ;  but  shows  us  the  Prince  in  the  service 
of  his  father,  and  performing  his  part  as  a  good 
soldier,  doing  his  best  in  slaughter  and  devas- 
tation, like  all  the  other  heroes  of  his  time. 
He  had  also  as  a  friend  in  his  youth  a  person 
seriously  disposed,  whose  very  presence  repelled 
all  frivolity.  This  man  was  Sir  John  Oldcastle, 
who  is  known  to  us  as  having  afterwards  suffered 
martyrdom  as  a  follower  of  the  reformed  doctrine 
of  Wyclifte.  The  Prince,  after  he  had  become 
king,  fell  out  with  him  on  this  account ;  and  Sir 
John  was  handed  over  by  the  Church  to  suffer 
the  cruelest  death  of  a  heretic. 

Fanatical  calumny  capped  this  martyrdom  by 
distorting  the  character  of  the  martyr,  and  for  a 
century  heaping  every  sort  of  reproach  upon  his 
memory.     Tradition  thus  handed  him  down,  and 


Vlll  INTRODUCTION. 

made  him,  in  spite  of  the  Reformation,  the  grand- 
master of  that  princely  wicked  set,  —  the  fat  good- 
for-nothing,  the  gray-headed  sinner  and  seducer 
of  the  young,  the  boon-companion  of  the  royal 
son,  who  lived  in  the  thoughtless  people's  mouth 
only  as  a  wild  and  hare-brained  youth.  Before 
Shakespeare  he  had  already  been  represented 
under  this  form  by  the  drama,  which,  at  its  start, 
eagerly  laid  hold  of  this  most  acceptable  of  all 
materials,  —  the  jovial-heroic  Henry  V. 

In  this  form  and  under  this  name,  the  con- 
ventional Oldcastle  had  also  been  brought  upon 
the  boards  by  Shakespeare ;  but  the  Protestant 
historical  consciousness  had  meanwhile  become 
formed,  and  would  not  bear  any  longer  even  the 
maltreatment  of  the  martyr,  however  uninten- 
tional it  might  be.  The  poet  was  obliged  to 
re-christen  the  character;  and  in  doing  so  he 
righted  the  wrong  by  a  second  even  greater  one, 
substituting  for  Oldcastle  a  famous  warrior.  Sir 
John  FalstafF,  whom  already,  in  a  previous  play 
called  Henry  V.,  he  had  misrepresented  by  fol- 
lowing in  good  faith  the  unfair  account  of  the 
chroniclers. 


INTRODUCTION.  IX 

This  is  the  external  history  of  the  Falstaif- 
cycle,  and  its  leading  figure. 

The  material  which  came  to  Shakespeare's 
hand  for  that  earlier  drama,  which  still  remains, 
was  of  the  roughest  sort.  The  fat  knight  has 
no  trace  of  wit;  hardly  of  a  corporeal  form  even, 
must  we  say,  if  we  did  not  know  that  his  figure 
and  costume,  the  hull  without  a  kernel,  had 
become  a  theatrical  tradition.  The  wild  Prince 
is  represented  in  a  grosser,  and  therefore  a  more 
repulsive  form  :  low  and  coarsely  unintellectual, 
he  shares  in  the  robberies  of  his  comrades ; 
carouses  with  them  in  the  wildest  drinking-bouts 
and  nightly  street-rows ;  exults  at  his  father's 
death,  though  his  repentance  is  just  as  abrupt; 
and  promises  to  make  the  most  shameless  of  the 
band  Lord  Chief  Justice,  at  whose  box  on  the 
ear  the  spectators  of  course  are  exceedingly 
tickled. 

The  old  piece  was  adapted  to  the  taste  of  an 
uncultivated  public,  and  held  its  place  through 
the  success  of  the  player  Tarlton  in  the  part  of 
the  clown.     Nothing  can  show  us  more  clearly 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

what  material  had  been  handed  down  to  Shakes- 
peare than  one  of  the  jokes  of  this  famous  comic 
actor.  One  of  the  players  being  absent,  Tarlton 
had  taken  the  part  of  the  Chief  Justice  besides 
his  own  leading  character,  and  he  who  took  the 
Prince's  part  played  off  the  bad  jest  of  giving 
him  a  sound  slap  in  the  face.  Tarlton  had  to 
make  his  appearance  immediately  afterwards  as 
the  clown ;  and  came  in  with  his  cheek  still  burn- 
ing red,  amidst  universal  laughter.  He  then 
took  the  liberty  to  state  what  had  occurred,  and 
said  that  he  felt  himself  regularly  insulted  by  this 
shocking  deed,  as  if  he  had  received  the  blow 
in  his  own  person ;  and  this  interpolation  brought 
down  the  house.  This  darling  of  the  public  and 
of  Queen  Elizabeth,  whose  jokt's  served  to  relieve 
the  oppressive  burden  that  weighed  upon  the 
heads  of  state  dignitaries,  was  the  pattern  of  that 
clown  about  whom  Shakespeare  freed  his  mind 
in  Hamlet ;  of  those  players  who  "  speak  more 
than  is  set  down  for  them,"  and,  regarding  them- 
selves as  the  middle,  point  of  interest,  "  set  some 
barren  spectators  to  laugh,  though  in  the  mean 


INTRODUCTION.  XI 

time  some  necessary  question  of  the  play  be  then 
to  be  considered." 

What  use  Shakespeare  made  of  the  material 
furnished  him  is  clearly  exhibited  in  his  first 
Falstaffian  scenes.  We  hear  the  Prince,  at  his 
first  entrance,  talking  with  Falstaff  of  their  com- 
mon robber  life  in  a  tone  such  as  one  footpad 
ordinarily  uses  to  another;  but  when  it  really 
comes  to  the  thing  itself,  he  joins  in  merely  to 
play  a  trick  on  his  fat  accomplice,  and  the  stolen 
money  is  amply  paid  back.  This  is  nothing 
more  than  a  pretty  trick  of  a  grand  lord,  with 
whose  mode  of  thinking  the  trade  of  a  thief 
would  badly  comport.  It  is  out  of  regard  to  the 
tradition  that  the  Prince  talks  of  purses  taken, 
gallows,  etc.,  and  at  the  same  time  the  tradition 
is  ennobled :  it  would  not  do,  for  one  who 
would  not  be  gainsaid,  to  call  it  too  strictly 
to  account. 

The  same  view  is  to  be  taken  of  one  of  the 
early  scenes  in  which  FalstafF  appears.  When 
he  is  lying  to  the  Prince  and  Pointz,  —  how  he 
was  set  upon  by  two  rogues  in  buckram  suits ; 


Xll  INTRODUCTION. 

how  four  let  drive  at  him ;  how  he  took  all  their 
seven  points  on  his  target,  and  then  paid  seven 
of  the  eleven,  —  he  cannot  for  a  moment  really 
believe,  clear-headed  as  he  is,  that  he  can  impose 
upon  these  two,  who  are  as  clear-headed  as 
himself,  with  this  mass  of  flummery ;  and  they 
can  as  little  imagine  that  he  thinks  they  believe 
it ;  and  yet  he  is  mercilessly  belabored  by  them 
for  his  lies.  We  see,  therefore,  that  there  existed 
a  tacit  understanding  among  these  humorists  to 
exaggerate  to  each  other,  and  perhaps  even  to 
themselves;  and,  as  soon  as  we  get  an  inkling 
of  this,  we  begin  to  fancy  that  not  only  the 
Prince,  but  Falstaff  also,  is  somewhat  better 
than  his  reputation  would  seem  to  indicate, 
and  than  he  himself  would  put  in  any  claim 
to  be. 

There  are  several  other  aspects  which  cannot 
be  mastered  in  a  moment.  In  Parolles,  that 
embryo  of  Falstaff,  —  or  rather,  perhaps,  his 
blooming,  illegitimate  child,  —  in  Falstaff"  him- 
self and  his  foil  Pistol,  the  poet  has  endeavored 
to  draw  the  picture  of  a  class  of  men,  different 


INTRODUCTION.  XIU 

as  the  individual  characters  may  be,  whom  he 
in  one  place  calls  the  rank  growth  and  weeds 
of  the  time,  —  the  military  swaggerers,  who, 
without  rendering  any  soldierly  service,  and 
even  with  actual  cowardice,  impose  upon  the 
multitude  with  their  military  bearing,  and  for 
the  time  even  upon  their  superiors.  In  Falstaff 
there  is  a  union  of  the  parasite  and  the  braggart, 
such  as  ancient  comedy  cannot  exhibit;  a  rich 
compound  of  base  qualities,  which  are  at  first 
only  spoken  of,  and  then  gradually  unfolded 
before  our  eyes,  until  the  character  in  the  Second 
Part  of  Henry  IV.,  although  still  preserving  its 
due  proportion  with  the  surroundings,  sinks 
anchor-deep  below  the  level  of  its  first  appear- 
ance. Here  we  have  touches  of  that  low  realism, 
most  powerfully  drawn  indeed,  but  rarely  to  be 
found  in  Shakespeare,  in  whose  school  his  rival, 
Ben  Jonson,  learned  to  draw  those  pictures  of 
life,  from  which  we  could  now  restore  ^.feuilleton 
of  London  in  the  year  1600. 

There  can  be  no  shade  of  doubt  that,  in  deal- 
ing with  that  side  of  character  in  which  he  has 


XIV  INTRODUCTION. 

embodied  the  typical  characteristics  of  the  time, 
the  dramatist  has  done  it  with  all  moral  earnest- 
ness ;  but  this  does  not  compromise  them  at  all 
in  the  view  we  have  taken  of  them.  It  may  be 
regarded  as  a  significant  trait  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
that  Vice,  the  universal  allegorical  figure  of  its 
semi-ecclesiastical  plays,  called  "  Moralities," 
was  a  comical  one ;  and,  as  such,  was  the  favorite 
of  the  public.  A  similar  and  even  more  striking 
transformation  belongs  to  our  vicious  knight. 
The  secret  of  this  transformation  is,  that  the 
dramatist  has  bestowed  upon  him  far  too  copi- 
ously, especially  in  the  earlier  scenes,  his  own 
mental  characteristics,  for  us  ever  to  really  be- 
lieve in  the  utter  degeneracy  of  this  rich  spirit, 
as  we  still  suppose  him  to  be.  Hence  it  happens 
that  the  character  loses  nothing  in  respect  to 
dramatic  unfolding ;  but  that  it  is  afterwards,  as 
we  become  acquainted  with  its  worst  features,  a 
different  one  from  what  we  are  made  acquainted 
with  in  the  beginning.  And  so  we  cannot  get 
rid  of  the  first  impression  that  the  witty  sinner 
is  calumniated,   and  calumniates  himself.      We 


INTRODUCTION.  XV 

cannot  in  the  later  FalstafF  wholly  forget  the 
earlier ;  especially  when  we  are  at  intervals  only 
too  vividly  reminded,  as  in  that  grand  discourse 
on  sack,  of  the  earlier  characteristics.  It  is  only 
by  a  nearer  view  that  we  are  made  aware  that  in 
FalstafF,  as  well  as  in  the  Prince,  there  is  a  slight 
contradiction.  If  this  can  be  called  a  fault,  it  is 
the  most  triumphant  one  that  a  poet  could  pos- 
sibly commit;  for  here  is  a  character  created, 
whom  the  laxest  ethics  must  condemn,  whilst 
he  charms  the  strictest  moral  censor. 

Yes,  Parolles  is  and  must  continue  to  be  a 
wretched  wight,  notwithstanding  that  Fate  gra- 
ciously suffers  him  to  end  well ;  but  Jack  FalstafF 
can  never  utterly  fall  from  grace.  We  ask  what 
those  about  him  say  of  him.  The  Prince  can 
give  him  up  with  difficulty,  in  spite  of  all  good 
resolutions,  only  after  his  position  as  king  obliges 
him  to  be  more  strict  towards  himself  and  to- 
wards others.  And  the  Hostess,  —  who  had  so 
many  grounds  of  complaint  against  him,  —  what 
does  she  say,  when  he  goes  to  the  war?  "Well, 
fare  thee  well,"  she  sobs  after  him ;   "  Fare  thee 


XVI  INTRODUCTION. 

well :  I  have  known  thee  these  twenty-nine 
years  come  peascod-time ;  but  an  honester,  and 
truer-hearted  man, —  Well,  fare  thee  well." 
And  Bardolph,  whom  he  had  so  often  vexed  by 
liis  cutting  jokes  about  his  nose,  even  keeping 
it  up  when  dying,  nevertheless  whimpers  forth  : 
"  Would  I  were  with  him,  wheresome'er  he  is, 
either  in  Heaven  or  in  Hell."  "  Nay,"  replies 
Mrs.  Quickly,  —  who  knows  much  better  where 
he  is, — "sure,  he  's  not  in  Hell :  he's  in  Arthur's 
bosom,  if  ever  man  went  to  Arthur's  bosom. 
'A  made  a  finer  end,  and  went  away  an  it  had 
been  any  christom  child." 

Even  the  maiden  Queen  Bess  must  have,  in  a 
degree,  lost  her  flinty  heart  for  him,  if  tradition 
can  be  credited.  Why  should  she  have  felt  any 
differently  from  her  loyal  people  and  the  poet  him- 
self? He  still  remained  gracious  to  him,  and 
wrought  a  small  miracle  by  raising  him  to  life 
again,  to  the  satisfaction  of  every  one ;  bringing 
also  from  the  grave,  and  even  from  the  gallows, 
his  favorite  companions,  so  that  Bardolph's  wish 
had  not  been  made  in  vain.     The  old  comrades 


INTRODUCTION.  3CV11 

are  brought  together  again  in  the  royal  city  of 
Windsor,  where  FalstafF  encounters  some  advent- 
ures with  two  merry  wives ;  and  our  hero  has 
the  moral  courage,  as  occasionally  before,  to 
make  himself  out  worse  than  he  was  in  fact,  — 
honest  old  soul  as  he  is,  —  for  the  general  sport. 
He  is  glad  that  the  arrows  glance  from  the  mark, 
even  if  he  is  wounded  by  them.  And  therefore 
his  adventures  this  time  do  not  end  so  badly  as 
in  his  first  life,  when  his  "  sweet,  mad  wag, 
Hal,  did  much  harm  upon  him."  There,  virtue 
took  its  place  at  the  board  where  vice  had  come 
to  its  foul  end ;  the  same  virtue  which  had  for- 
merly wandered  out  "  under  the  moon  and  seven 
stars"  with  vice.  But  here,  at  parting,  virtue 
and  vice  are  peacefully  joined ;  and  "  each  one 
goes  home  to  laugh  the  sport  o'er  by  a  country 
fire." 

Let  us  then,  as  far  as  we  can,  shut  an  eye  to 
the  dark  side  of  old  Jack,  and  endeavor  so  much 
the  more  to  make  the  best  of  his  bright  side ;  for 
"  the  abuses  of  the  time  call  for  improvement." 
Our    artist,    Konewka,    represents    the    figures 


XVlll  INTRODUCTION. 

which  were  grouped  about  Falstaff  in  their 
individual  characters,  therein  resembling  the 
dramatic  critic  who  illustrates  one  character 
after  the  other  separately ;  but  the  artist's  task 
is  the  more  satisfactory  one,  for  he  can  express 
by  a  few  casual  strokes  what  the  critic  fails  to 
convey  with  his  exhaustive  analysis. 


4 


I. 

PRINCE    HENRY    AND     FRANCIS. 

TIJ^RANCIS.  —  Anon,  anon,  sir. — Look  down 
into  the  Pomegarnet,  Ralph. 

P.   Henry.  —  Come  hither,  Francis. 

Fran.  —  My  Lord. 

P.  Henry.  —  How  long  hast  thou  to  serve, 
Francis  ? 

Fran.  —  Forsooth,  five  years,  and  as  much  as 
to  — 

PoiNTZ  \wtthin~\ .  —  Francis  ! 

Fran.  —  Anon,  anon,  sir. 

P.  Henry.  —  Five  3ears  !  by  'r  Lady,  a  long 
lease  for  the  clinking  of  pewter.  But,  Francis, 
darest  thou  be  so  valiant  as  to  play  the  coward 
with  thy  indenture,  and  to  show  it  a  fair  pair 
of  heels,  and  run  from  it  ? 

Fran.  —  O  Lord  !  sir,  I  '11  be  sworn  upon  all 
the  books  in  England,  I  could  find  in  my 
heart  — 

Pointz  [wttktn] .  —  Francis  ! 

Fran.  —  Anon,  anon,  sir. 

/:.  Henry  IV.,  Part  I.  Act  11.  Sc.  4. 


I. 


Prince   jpcnrp   anH   JranfW. 


II. 

FALSTAFF   AND    PAGE. 

■pALSTAFF.  —  Men  of  all  sorts  take  a  pride 
to  gird  at  me :  the  brain  of  this  foolish- 
compounded  clay,  man,  is  not  able  to  invent  any 
thing  that  tends  to  laughter,  more  than  I  invent, 
or  is  invented  on  me  :  I  am  not  only  witty  in 
myself,  but  the  cause  that  wit  is  in  other  men. 
I  do  here  walk  before  thee  like  a  sow  that  hath 
o'erwhelm'd  all  her  litter  but  one  :  if  the  Prince 
put  thee  into  my  service  for  any  other  reason 
than  to  set  me  off,  why  then  I  have  no  judgment. 
Thou  whoreson  mandrake,  thou  art  fitter  to  be 
worn  in  my  cap  than  to  wait  at  my  heels.  I  was 
never  mann'd  with  an  agate  till  now :  but  I  will 
set  you  neither  in  gold  nor  silver,  but  in  vile 
apparel,  and  send  you  back  again  to  your  mas- 
ter, for- a  jewel,  —  the  juvenal,  the  Prince  your 
master,  whose  chin  is  not  yet  fledg'd.  He  may 
keep  his  own  grace,  but  he  is  almost  out  of 
mine,  I  can  assure  him.  —  What  said  Master 
Dumbleton    about   the  satin  for  my  short  cloak 

and  my  slops? 

K.  Henry  IV.,  Part  II.  Act  I.  Sc.  2. 


IT. 
jFalfiitaff  anB  Pajc. 


III. 

BARDOLPH. 

JPALSTAFF.  —  Thou  art  our  admiral,  thou 
bearest  the  lantern  in  the  poop,  —  but  'tis 
in  the  nose  of  thee :  thou  art  the  Knight  of  the 
Burning  Lamp.  O,  thou  art  a  perpetual  triumph, 
an  everlasting  bonfire-light !  Thou  hast  saved 
me  a  thousand  marks  in  links  and  torches,  walk- 
ing with  thee  in  the  night  betwixt  tavern  and  tav- 
ern :  but  the  sack  that  thou  hast  drunk  me  would 
have  bought  me  lights  as  good  cheap,  at  the 
dearest  chandler's  in  Europe.  I  have  main- 
tain'd  that  salamander  of  yours  with  fire  any 
time  this  two  and  thirty  years :  God  reward  me 
for  it! 

K.  Henry  IV.,  Part  I.  Act  HI.  Sc.  3. 


III. 


^arliolpl^. 


IV. 

SHALLOW  AND   SILENCE. 

O  HALLOW.  —  Jesu  !  Jesu  1  the  mad  days  that 
I  have  spent !  and  to  see  how  many  of  mine 
old  acquaintance  are  dead  ! 

Silence.  —  We  shall  all  follow,  cousin. 

Shal.  —  Certain,  'tis  certain  ;  very  sure,  very 
sure ;  death,  as  the  Psalmist  saith,  is  certain  to 
all ;  all  shall  die.  —  How  a  good  yoke  of  bullocks 
at  Stamford  Fair? 

SiL.  — Truly,  cousin,  I  was  not  there. 

Shal.  —  Death  is  certain.  —  Is  old  Double  of 
your  town  living  yet? 

SiL.  —  Dead,  sir. 

Shal.  — Jesu  !  Jesu  !  Dead  !  —  he  drew  a  good 
bow  ;  and  dead  I  —  he  shot  a  fine  shoot :  John 
of  Gaunt  loved  him  well,  and  betted  much 
money  on  his  head.  Dead  !  —  How  a  score  of 
ewes  now? 

SiL.  —  Thereafter  as  they  be  ;  a  score  of  good 
ewes  may  be  worth  ten  pounds. 

Shal.  —  And  is  old  Double  dead  ! 

K.  Henry  IV.,  Part  II.  Act  III  Sc.  2. 


IV. 

S<l)alIotD  anH  S^tlence. 


V. 

POINTZ    AND    DOLL   TEARSHEET. 

pOINTZ.  —  By  this  light,  I  am  well  spoken 
on ;  I  can  hear  it  with  mine  own  ears  :  the 
worst  that  they  can  say  of  me  is,  that  I  am  a 
second  brother,  and  that  I  am  a  proper  fellow 
of  my  hands ;  and  those  two  things,  I  confess, 
I  cannot  help. 

K.  Henry  IV.,  Pari  II.  Act  II.  Sc.  2. 

Doll.  —  Hang  yourself,  you  muddy  conger, 

hang  yourself! 

K.  Henry  IV.,  Part  II.  Act  IL  Sc.  4. 

Doll. — Ah,  rogue!  i' faith,  I  love  thee. 
Thou  art  as  valorous  as  Hector  of  Troy,  worth 
five  of  Agamemnon,  and  ten  times  better  than 
the  Nine  Worthies.     Ah,  villain ! 

K.  Henry  IV.,  Part  II.  Act  II.  Sc.  4. 


V. 


Pointy   anU  ^oU  Cearelieet* 


VI. 

GADSHILL    AND    PETO. 

/^ADSHILL.  —  What  talkest  thou  to  me  of 
the  hangman?  if  I  hang,  I'll  make  a  fat 
pair  of  gallows ;  for,  if  I  hang,  old  Sir  John 
hangs  with  me,  and  thou  know'st  he 's  no  starve- 
ling. Tut !  there  are  other  Trojans  that  thou 
dream'st  not  of,  the  which,  for  sport  saike,  are 
content  to  do  the  profession  some  grace,  that 
would,  if  matters  should  be  look'd  into,  for  their 
own  credit  sake,  make  all  whole. 

K.  Henry  IK,  Part  I.  Act  11.  Sc.  i. 

Peto.  — How  many  be  there  of  them? 
Gadshill.  —  Some  eight  or  ten. 

K.  Henry  IV.,  Part  I.  Act  II.  Sc.  2. 


VI. 


VII. 

SNARE   AND    FANG. 

"C^ANG.  — Sirrah,  where  's  Snare? 
Snare.  —  Here,  here. 
Fang.  —  Snare,  we  must  arrest  Sir  John  Fal- 
staff. 

Snare.  —  It  may  chance  cost  some  of  us  our 
Hves  ;  for  he  will  stab. 

Fang.  —  If  I  can  close  with  him,  I  care  not 
for  his  thrust. 

K.  Henry  IV.,  Part  II.  Act  II.  Sc.  i. 


VII. 
S>nare  antt   JFans. 


VIII. 

HOSTESS    QUICKLY   AND    PISTOL. 

ly/TRS.  OyiCKLY.  —  Pr'ythee,     honey-sweet 
husband,  let  me  bring  thee  to  Staines. 
Pistol.  —  No ;     for    my    manly    heart   doth 
yearn. 

Come,  let's  away.  — My  love, 

Look  to  my  chattels  and  my  movables : 

Let  senses  rule  ;  the  word  is,  ''  Pitch  and  pay  ;  " 

Trust  none  ; 

For   oaths   are    straws,  men's   faiths   are  wafer- 
cakes, 

And  Hold-fast  is  the  only  dog,  my  duck. 

Let  housewifery  appear ;  keep  close,  I  thee  com- 
mand. 
Mrs.  Q^JiCKLY.  —  Farewell;   adieu. 

K.  Henry  V.,  Act  II.  Sc.  3. 


VIII. 
|)0£tt(gg   ©utcfclp   anH   PtBtoI. 


IX. 

MISTRESS  FORD  AND  MISTRESS  PAGE. 

IV/TRS.  FORD. —  What's  the  matter?  how 
now ! 

Mrs.  Page.  —  O  Mistress  Ford  !  what  have 
you  done?  You're  sham'd,  you're  overthrown, 
you're  undone  for  ever. 

Mrs.  Ford.  —  What 's  the  matter,  good  Mis- 
tress Page? 

Mrs.  Page.  —  O  well-a-day,  Mrs.  Ford ! 
having  an  honest  man  to  30ur  husband,  to  give 
him  such  cause  of  suspicion  ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  —  What  cause  of  suspicion? 

Mrs.  Page.  —  What  cause  of  suspicion?  — 
Out  upon  you  !  how  am  I  mistook  in  you  ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  —  W^hy,  alas  I  what 's  the  matter? 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  III.  Sc.  3. 


IX. 


^ieUttiH  iFort   aiU   imatttta   Paje. 


X. 

N  Y  M. 

1VTYM.  —  I  say  little ;  but  when  time  shall 
serve,  there  shall  be  smites ;  —  but  that 
shall  be  as  it  may.  I  dare  not  fight ;  but  I  will 
wink,  and  held  out  mine  iron.  It  is  a  simple 
one:  but  what  though?  it  will  toast  cheese; 
and  it  will  endure  cold  as  another  man's  sword 
will ;   and  there  's  an  end. 

K.  Henry  V.,  Act  II.  Sc.  i. 


X. 


XL 

MR.  FORD   AND   MR.  PAGE. 

TDAGE.  —  How  now,  Master  Ford  ? 

Ford.  —  You    heard   what    this    knave 
told  me,  did  you  not? 

Page.  —  Yes;  and  you  heard  what  the  other 
told  me. 

Ford.  —  Do  you  think  there  is  truth  in  them? 

Page.  —  Hang  'em,  slaves ;  I  do  not  think 
the  knight  would  offer  it.  But  these  that  accuse 
him,  in  his  intent  towards  our  wives,  are  a  yoke 
of  his  discarded  men ;  verj'  rogues,  now  they  be 
out  of  service. 

Ford.  —  Were  they  his  men? 

Page.  —  Marry,  were  they. 

Ford.  —  I  like  it  never  the  better  for  that. 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  II.  Sc.  i. 


XL 
ilr.   JFort    anU   ilr.   Paffe.' 


I 


XII. 

DR.  CAIUS. 

HAVE   heard,  the  Frenchman    hath  good 
skill  in  his  rapier." 

Merry   Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  II.  Sc.  i. 


Caius. — By  gar,  he  has  save  his  soul,  dat  he 
is  no  come  :  he  has  pray  his  Pible  veil,  dat  he  is 
no  come.  By  gar,  he  is  dead  already,  if  he  be 
come.  By  gar,  de  herring  is  no  dead,  so  as  I 
vill  kill  him. 

Merry   Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  II.  Sc.  3. 


XII. 
^r.   CaiuB. 


XIII. 

MISTRESS    PAGE   AND    ROBIN. 

A/TRS.  PAGE.  —  Nay,  keep  your  way,  little 
gallant :  you  were  wont  to  be  a  follower, 
but  now  you  are  a  leader.  Whether  had  you 
rather,  lead  mine  eyes,  or  eye  your  master's 
heels? 

Robin.  —  I   had   rather,    forsooth,    go   before 
you  like  a  man,  than  follow  him  like  a  dwarf. 

Mrs.    Page.  —  O  !  you  are   a  flattering  boy  : 
now,  I  see,  you  '11  be  a  courtier. 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor^  Act  III.  Sc.  2. 


XIII. 
;PiBtrc68   Ipaffe   anti  Eobin. 


XIV. 

FALSTAFF    AND    MRS.    FORD. 

"PALSTAFF.  —  "iTflz;^  /  caughr  thee,  ''my 
heavenly  jewel  f^  Why,  now  let  me  die, 
for  I  have  liv'd  long  enough :  this  is  the  period 
of  my  ambition.     O  this  blessed  hour  ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  —  O,  sweet  Sir  John  ! 

Falstaff.  —  Mistress  Ford,  I  cannot  cog,  I 
cannot  prate,  Mistress  Ford.  Now  shall  I  sin 
in  my  wish  :  I  would  thy  husband  were  dead, 
I  '11  speak  it  before  the  best  lord,  I  would  make 
thee  my  lady. 

Mrs.  Ford.  —  I  your  lady,  Sir  John !  alas, 
I  should  be  a  pitiful  lady. 

Falstaff.  —  Let  the  Court  of  France  show 
me  such  another.  I  see  how  thine  eye  would 
emulate  the  diamond  :  thou  hast  the  right  arched 
beauty  of  the  brow,  that  becomes  the  ship-tire, 
the  tire-valiant,  or  any  tire  of  Venetian  admit- 
tance. 

Mrs.  Ford.  —  A  plain  kerchief.  Sir  John : 
my  brows  become  nothing  else ;  nor  that  well 
neither. 

Falstaff.  —  By  the  Lord,  thou  art  a  tyrant 

to  say  so. 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor^  Act  III.  Sc.  3. 


XIV. 
iFalBtaff  anJ   f^iaUtea  JForlr. 


XV. 

SIR    HUGH    EVANS    AND    PISTOL. 

TDISTOL.  —  He  hears  with  ears. 

Sir  Hugh.  —  The  tevil  and  his  tarn  ! 
what  phrase  is  this?  "He  hears  with  ear?" 
Why,  it  is  affectations. 

Pistol.  —  Ha,  thou  mountain-foreigner  !  —  Sir 
John  and  master  mine, 
I  combat  challenge  of  this  latten  bilbo  : 
Word  of  denial  in  thy  labras  here ; 
Word  of  denial :   froth  and  scum,  thou  liest ! 

Merry   Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  I.  Sc.  i. 


XV. 

S>tr   l^usi)   ebane   anH   pistol 


XVI. 

ROBIN    AND    GREYHOUND. 

"  "\TC  7HY,  this   boy  will  carry  a  letter  twenty 
miles,  as  easy  as  a  cannon  will  shoot 
point-blank  twelve  score." 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  I'll.  Sc.  2. 


XVI. 


XVII. 

BARDOLPH  AND  HOST  OF  GARTER  INN. 

TTOST.  —  I  will  entertain  Bardolph  ;  he  shall 
draw,  he  shall  tap :  said  I  well,  bully 
Hector? 

Falstaff.  —  Do  so,  good  mine  Host. 

Host.  —  I  have  spoke  ;  let  him  follow.  —  Let 
me  see  thee  froth,  and  lime.  I  am  at  a  word ; 
follow. 

Bardolph.  —  It  is  a  life  that  I  have  desir'd ; 
I  will  thrive.      [^Exit  Bard.'] 

Pistol.  —  O  base  Hungarian  wight !  wilt  thou 
the  spigot  wield  ? 

Nym.  —  He  was  gotten  in  drink  :  is  not  the 
humor  conceited? 

Falstaff.  —  I  am  glad  I  am  so  acquit  of 
this  tinder-box. 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  /.  Sc.  3. 


XVII. 
^artiolpl)   anB   ^ost  of  ©arter  ^rau 


XVIII. 

MASTER    SLENDER   AND    ANNE    PAGE. 

A  NNE.  —  Now,  Master  Slender. 

Slender,  —  Now,  good  Mistress  Anne. 

Anne.  —  What  is  your  will  ? 

Slender.  —  My  will  ?  od's  heartlings  !  that 's 
a  pretty  jest,  indeed  !  I  ne'er  made  my  will  yet, 
I  thank  Heaven  ;  I  am  not  such  a  sickly  creature, 
I  give  Heaven  praise. 

Anne. — I  mean,  Master  Slender,  what  would 
you  with  me? 

Slender.  — Truly,  for  mine  own  part,  I  would 
little  or  nothing  with  you.  Your  father,  and  my 
uncle,  have  made  motions  :  if  it  be  my  luck,  so  ; 
if  not,  happy  man  be  his  dole !  They  can  tell 
you  how  things  go,  better  than  I  can. 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  III.  Sc.  4. 


XVIII. 


XIX. 

FENTON    AND    MISTRESS    QUICKLY. 

TRENTON.  —  What  news  ?  how  does  pretty 
Mistress  Anne  ? 

Quickly.  —  In  truth,  sir,  and  she  is  pretty, 
and  honest,  and  gentle ;  and  one  that  is  your 
friend,  I  can  tell  you  that  by  the  way ;  I  praise 
Heaven  for  it. 

Fenton.  —  Shall  I  do  any  good,  think'st 
thou?     Shall  I  not  lose  my  suit? 

Quickly. — Troth,  sir,  all  is  in  His  hands 
above  :  but  notwithstanding,  Master  Fenton,  I  '11 
be  sworn  on  a  book,  she  loves  you.  —  Have  not 
your  worship  a  wart  above  your  eye  ? 

Fenton. — Yes,  marry,  have  I ;  what  of  that? 

Quickly. — Well,  thereby  hangs  a  tale. — 
Good  faith,  it  is  such  another  Nan; — but,  I 
detest,  an  honest  maid  as  ever  broke  bread  :  — 
we  had  an  hour's  talk  of  that  wart.  —  I  shall 
never  laugh  but  in  that  maid's  company  ;  —  but, 
indeed,  she  is  given  too  much  to  allicholly  and 
musing.    But  for  you  —  well,  go  to. 

Merry   Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  I.  Sc.  4. 


XIX. 


XX. 

FALSTAFF. 

■pALSTAFF.  —  The  Windsor  bell  hath  struck 
twelve  ;  the  minute  draws  on.  O,  powerful 
love !  that,  in  some  respects,  makes  a  beast  a 
man,  in  some  other,  a  man  a  beast.  — You  were 
also,  Jupiter,  a  swan,  for  the  love  of  Leda  :  —  O, 
omnipotent  love !  how  near  the  god  drew  to  the 
complexion  of  a  goose! — For  me,  I  am  here  a 
Windsor  stag;  and  the  fattest,  I  think,  i'  th' 
forest.     Who  comes  here?  my  doe? 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  V.  Sc.  5. 


XX. 

iFaletaff. 


i 

t 

